


these prompt fills are brought to you by okaystop

by okaystop



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: 2008 Campaign Era (Crooked Media RPF), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Autumn, Awkwardness, Blind Date, Comfort, Dogs, Drinking, Drunk Kissing, End of the World, Established Relationship, Fear of Flying, Friends setting up friends, Gay Bar, Gen, Gyms, Hospitals, Hotels, Hurt, Kid Fic, Kissing, LA Era (Crooked Media RPF), M/M, Making Out, Miscommunication, Mpreg, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Prompt Fill, Pumpkin Spice Latte, Pumpkins, Roommates, Short & Sweet, Sickfic, Texting, Washington D.C., White House Era (Crooked Media RPF), Woke Up Together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-01-15 18:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaystop/pseuds/okaystop
Summary: This is a collection of short prompt fills. Each chapter is a different fill and are likely unrelated with the exception of course that they are all Crooked fic.1: You punched me in the face while gesticulating wildly to a friend. (jonjon)2: This is a long plane ride, we’re sitting together, and you’re deathly afraid of flying. (vietreau)3: This is a long plane ride, we’re sitting together, and you’re deathly afraid of flying. (jonjon)4: "I think I'm pregnant." (jonjon)5: "Kiss me." (tommyjon)6: "You can't die. Please don't die." (danlo)7: "Those things you said yesterday…did you mean them?" (tommyjon)8: I ordered a pumpkin spice latte & you made a heart with the foam ... (tommyjon)9: My friend is determined to fix me up ... (tommyjon)10: We drunk-kissed but you forgot about it ... (tommyjon)11: "We can't keep doing this." (danlo)12: "You can't die. Please don't die." (vietreau)13: "What did you say?" (jonjon)14: "I might have had a few shots." (tommyjon)15. "I'm going to take care of you, okay?" (tommyjon)NEW!16. met at a pumpkin patch ... (tommyjon)





	1. jonjon | well, obviously, I didn't intend to punch you in the face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **thetimesinbetween**, who asked for jonjon #122: You punched me in the face while gesticulating wildly to a friend.

It's Friday night in DC and Tommy drags Jon away from the White House before eight for the first time since the inauguration a few weeks ago. They find a table near the wall for themselves at a bar that's steadily getting crowded. Before Jon can really think about it, he has a beer in one hand and his other picking over a plate of onion rings. 

Tommy slaps a hand on his shoulder. "I feel like I've been working in the White House for a decade already, and it's barely been a month."

"Honestly," Jon says, a strained smile crossing his face. "I've never been so tired before in my life."

"I don't know. I think I might have been more tired when I was in Iowa, but I don't remember." Tommy rubs his face with both hands, shakes his head blearily. He reaches for his beer and drinks it.

Jon bites into an onion ring chases it with his own beer. "Well that's true. I remember calling you once and you hadn't slept for like forty-eight hours."

"It was a lot of twenty-minute power naps in very uncomfortable places. Like in a broom closet, or the bathroom floor." Tommy shrugs. "But hey, now it's just like a ton of stress pressing down on us making it impossible to sleep, right? "

Jon frowns. He hasn't had any trouble sleeping. When he has time to sleep at least. 

Tommy catches on to Jon's frown and shakes his head. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

Jon thinks he should be worried about Tommy, but also that it's probably not worth it to worry about it right now. Maybe later, maybe a few weeks from now, if it's still hard and stressful for them, if they aren't getting any better. If he can see the lack of sleep and an abundance of stress in the bags under Tommy's eyes, like he had every time he visited Iowa. 

In the meantime -

"This is good now," Jon says. "Thanks for getting me out tonight."

Tommy looks at him and nods, any previous appearance of sleeplessness or stress masked in his grin. "You're welcome, man."

Jon smiles back and finishes off his beer. "You want another? I'll go."

"Sure," Tommy says. "Same thing is fine."

Jon nods and backs away from their high top to make his way over to the bar. It's crowded, moreso now than when they got there, and Jon has to nudge and elbow his way through the throng of people. There are a lot of people between him and the bar, including a group of guys talking very loudly and taking up more space than they look like they need. Or, really, it's just one loud guy, and even though Jon doesn't intend to listen in, it's very hard not to.

"All I'm saying is, the only people they make these high top chairs for are like six-foot-whatever chiseled men who also don't have to think about the fit of their pants or shirts or anything and are already coasting through life -" 

Jon half snorts at the comment, not because he disagrees or agrees, it's more the tone in which it's said, and maybe he likes looking at the curls brushing the curve of the ear of the guy who's saying it. Jon spots an opening at the bar and pushes past, shoving all those thoughts aside. 

Unfortunately, it's at that moment that the loud opinions guy gesticulates wildly with both hands. He back hands Jon right across the bridge of his nose.

"Ow, what the fuck -" Jon might have shrieked in an unflattering high-pitched way, but also it's very loud in the bar so maybe someone else made that noise. He isn't sure, except that his nose hurts a lot. He doubles over (as much as he can in the crowd), his hands up to cover his face.

The guy who hit him spins around on his high top chair so fast he slides right off. "Whoa, your nose isn't broken, is it? My hand's definitely not hard enough to break a whole nose. Why were you standing so close to me anyway, huh?"

Jon tries to look up at him but his vision is a little blurry and his head is starting to ache. "Just trying to get to the bar," he mutters, not saying that he was also enjoying listening to the rant (and looking at the guy's hair around his ear, no way).

"Well, obviously, I didn't intend to punch you in the face," the guy's saying, over the top of Jon's explanation. "So don't sue me or anything."

Jon stands up too quickly, blood rushing to his head. "I'm not going to sue you," he says, but the guy isn't listening. 

"You don't even know my name, so you can't sue me. You can't prove anything. No one even saw what happened. Not one person." He looks at the group of people he's with and they all chatter at the same time, looking away, absolving all of them from seeing or knowing anything. "Shit, do you need, like, ice or something?"

Jon finally removes his cupped palm from his nose. "Give me your drink," he says, and the guy thrusts it at his face. Jon flinches and steps back, jostling someone behind him. He mutters an apology and takes the glass, pressing it to the inside of his cheekbone. "Fuck, that hurt," he says. "It's not broken, and I'm not going to _sue_ you."

The guy's entire body lets out a breath. "Good, good, because see, I'm currently unemployed and that really wouldn't be a good thing in my life right now."

"Yeah, no problem. I'm sure it was an accident," Jon says.

The guy nods. "Of course it was. I'm not in the habit of hitting random guys in the nose in bars just to get their attention. And especially not handsome, neatly-pressed guys who are probably Republican. Even I'm not that desperate."

Jon wants to arch an eyebrow or pull an offended look, but his face hurts so he settles for confused. "I'm not a Republican!"

"That's what you're reacting to?"

Jon bristles a little. "I work for the President," he says, affronted. "I'm not a Republican."

"Oh my God, you're an Obama bro." The guy hangs his head, shoulders shaking. "I should have known. Look, just - I'm sorry, really, I am."

Jon holds up a hand then sticks it out toward him. "It's fine, really. Uh - I'm Jon."

He blinks. "Me too. I mean, my name's Jon, too. Lovett. Jon Lovett. You can call me Lovett." Lovett takes his hand in a firm shake.

"Hi, Lovett. Tell you what, you can buy me a drink and we'll forget the whole thing ever happened." Jon doesn't let go of his hand yet. He even steps a little closer. 

Lovett narrows his eyes. "Look, I don't know what you're up to, but I don't like it." He sticks his hand in the pocket of his tight black jeans and then pushes a $20 at Jon. "But here's money for your nose, er, I mean your drink. Have a good night, sorry about your face, etc. etc." 

Before Jon could argue or give him back his money, Lovett squeezes through the people who had moved in between him and his friends and disappears. Jon frowns. "Yeah, okay," he mutters, then tries for the bar again.

When he returns to Tommy with a beer in each hand, Tommy has finished the onion rings. "What took you so long?" he asks, not looking up from his Blackberry. When he does, his eyes widen. "And what the fuck happened to your face?"

Jon sits. "I got into a bar fight. Huge fight. Don't know how you missed it. You shoulda seen the other guy."

The worry lines on Tommy's forehead crease. "Favs -"

"I'm kidding, god, relax. Just got jostled around in the crowd and some guy's hand connected with my face. No big deal. Drink your beer." He pushes it across at Tommy and looks down into his own beer. 

Tommy changes the subject a moment later, and Jon's grateful for the distraction. It keeps him from looking over his shoulder, back at the sea of people, trying to spot Lovett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos are always very much appreciated.


	2. vietreau | with any luck ...  you won't wake up until we're on the ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **dna-stuff**, who asked for vietreau #126: This is a long plane ride, we’re sitting together, and you’re deathly afraid of flying.

The first thing Jon does when he slides into his window seat in business class is turn on the monitor on the back of the seat in front of him until he gets to screen that shows their flight path. 

Beside him, Tommy gets their carry-ons into the overhead compartments. By the time he's done and has slipped into the seat beside Jon, Jon has already closed the window shade, buckled and tightened his seat belt, and turned off his phone, stowing it into the seat back pocket in front of him.

His leg jiggles anxiously, and Tommy sets his big hand on his thigh, steadying him. "With any luck," he says, "you'll be asleep before we even take off and won't wake up until we're on the ground."

Tommy's pinkie plays with the inseam on Jon's jeans. Jon looks down at his hand spanning his thigh, at the gold band on his ring finger. He looks at Tommy and nods. "Remind me again why we're flying all the way to Marrakech." 

"Because you wanted to go somewhere neither of us have been before and there aren't that many places left." 

Jon smiles. He reaches across himself so he can cover his husband's hand with his own, their rings settling against each other's. "I just want our honeymoon to be special," he says.

Tommy leans his forehead against Jon's. "It will be. You know why?"

Jon closes his eyes as he hears, somewhere behind them, the plane's door shutting. He shudders a little and tries to keep his breathing calm. "Why?"

"Because we'll be together," Tommy says, squeezing Jon's hand. "And because I love you."

Jon nods. "I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos are always very much appreciated.


	3. jonjon | I think you're in my seat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **catherine**, who asked for jonjon #126: This is a long plane ride, we’re sitting together, and you’re deathly afraid of flying.

Lovett carried his backpack in front of him, against his chest, to keep from banging it against every other person as he made his way down the narrow aisle to his seat all the way at the back of the plane. He checked his ticket when he got near his seat, looking up at the row numbers and back down again.

A guy with an unfortunate buzz cut, wearing a politics-appropriate white shirt and black tie, loose at the throat, was already sitting in his seat. "Uh -"

The guy looked up, smiled nervously. He had a gap between his front teeth. Lovett found him immediately adorable and groaned inwardly at himself. "I think you're in my seat," he said, trying not to sound impatient because he wasn't, not really, except at himself.

"Yeah, uh - this is you? Any chance - I mean, would you switch with me? I'm just here, at the window." He gestured to the empty seat beside him.

Lovett honestly didn't have a very big preference for airplane seating himself, and the guy _was_ super cute, so he shrugged. "I had, like, three diet Cokes before boarding so I'll probably have to go to the bathroom several times."

The guy looked wary, like he wasn't sure what kind of answer that was.

"If that's okay with you, me climbing over you every twenty minutes, I'll switch, sure."

Lovett backed up to let the guy out then squeezed back into settled into the window seat.

It became clear fairly quickly that Lovett's seatmate did not want to be on that plane.

His hands gripped both armrests so tightly that Lovett thought his long fingers might get stuck that way. Then, his breathing grew shallow the moment the plane pushed back from the gate. 

Even though Lovett had planned to use the trip to take a much-needed nap, he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did it with this guy on the verge of a panic attack beside him. He pushed his headphones back to settle around his neck. "Hey," he said, "can I help with anything?"

The guy turned only his head toward Lovett, eyes wide, mouth open with labored breath. "Uh, what?"

"Can I offer you a water? A Xanax? To distract you by telling you the most boring story in the world?"

He blinked a few times, his attention on Lovett. "Sorry," he said. "I don't like flying."

"No," Lovett said, "I couldn't tell." Was that maybe the start of a smile at the corner of his mouth? Lovett wanted it to be. "I hope you have something exciting waiting for you in Iowa," he continued. "Otherwise why the hell are you suffering a flight to go there."

His reply was a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, it's my job to be in Iowa right now."

"Yeah? Me, too." Lovett thought he'd remember this guy, if he was on Hillary's campaign with him, even with all the staffers they had now. Which meant he was probably on one of the other ones. If he had to guess, he'd pick Edwards'.

"Which campaign?"

The guy started to answer, but the plane started to pick up speed and his mouth froze like that, half open. His eyes widened and he looked away from Lovett, or really, away from the window over Lovett's shoulder. Lovett twisted to slap the window cover down. Then, on impulse, he put his hand over the guy's, holding on tightly. He felt him relax, or just breathe out, Lovett wasn't sure.

As the plane tilted back and the wheels left the ground, this rowmate turned his hand over so he could push his fingers through lovett's and squeeze. _Very_ tightly. "Thanks," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Takeoff and landing are the worst of it."

Lovett bit the inside of his cheek for a moment as the plane leveled out and the grip on his hand loosened then disappeared altogether as they separated. "Then I look forward to holding your hand again in a few hours." 

That earned him a smile, a wide, sincere one, and Lovett's heart fluttered. He waited until he was sure the guy was feeling a little better before he slid his headphones on and tried to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos are always very much appreciated.


	4. jonjon | it's either yes or no, one thing or the other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anonymous prompter, who asked for jonjon #74: "I think I'm pregnant."

The timer Jon set on his phone went off. He looked from his phone screen, where he was reading the New York Times daily impeachment briefing, and across to the bathroom sink, where a pregnancy test sat precariously close to the edge. For a long moment, during which he held his breath, Jon didn't move. "Right," he said to himself, "it's either yes or no. One thing or the other." 

Before he could reach out and get it over with, his phone beeped with a new text. Tommy. _hey, everything okay? You've been in there a long time, man._

He thumbed the screen, flicked from his conversation with Tommy over to the one with Lovett. Last night they texted about Jon's distaste for cilantro and what movie to watch while eating tacos. It ended with a stalemate, and they had just watched old episodes of Frasier on Jon's couch with Lovett giving a running commentary the entire time. 

He went back to the message from Tommy and replied. _Yeah I'm fine. Just got caught up reading an article. Be right out._

To Lovett, he typed out, deleted, then typed again: _Are you busy? Can you come to the bathroom for a sec?_ He watched as the little dots signifying that Lovett was typing appeared, disappeared for longer than Jon would have liked, then appeared again, followed quickly with: _on my way_

Jon counted backwards from thirty, and the knock on the door came when he got down to eleven. "It's not locked," he said, and then Lovett was squeezing inside and closing the door behind him.

"Hey. I was going to make some joke about a quickie in the office bathroom, but Tommy had this really worried look on his face when he said you'd been in here for like fifteen minutes already or something. What's going on?"

Jon rubbed his palm against his jean-clad thigh and swallowed. "So uh," he said, and his gaze flitted over to the pregnancy test that he still hadn't looked at yet, "I think I'm pregnant."

Of course Lovett's first reaction would be to laugh, and Jon felt his face flush, the heat rising and pooling there and in his stomach. Then Lovett choked on his own laughter and his eyes widened. "Shit, are you serious?"

Jon nodded. "I'm sorry," he said because what else could he say to his boyfriend when they'd never had a serious discussion about the future or kids or whether either of them was a carrier or _even if they were ready to put a label on this and use the word boyfriend_.

"No," Lovett said, his tone sharp. Then, "don't do that," in a gentler tone, tired. "Don't apologize for - you just think? Maybe you're not. Because it's really rare. Even if you're a carrier, and god, Jon, did you know you were? Are? Jesus, isn't that something that probably should have come up? I mean, I know it's not something people like to talk about it but maybe we should have, we could have taken more precautions or maybe I shouldn't have fucked you -"

"I took an at-home test," Jon said, cutting him off and gesturing to the counter, where the pregnancy test laid face-down. "I haven't looked at it yet. I thought - I hoped you'd - I wanted us to look at it together." He should have just looked at it, he thought. He should have looked and then if it was negative, this conversation would have never happened, and if it was positive, maybe it still would never have happened, if Jon decided that it didn't have to. "Will you look at it with me?" he asked, because, really, that was the way this should go, no matter how terrifying it was.

Lovett stared at the test with his eyes as wide as Jon had ever seen them. "Yeah, Jon," he said softly. "Let's look at it together."

He swallowed. "Yeah, all right." Jon reached out and curled his hand around the test without flipping it over.

Lovett pressed his fingers against Jon's wrist. "Wait," he said urgently. "Jon, before we know for sure, I need you to know -" He angled himself so that they faced each other. He took Jon's other hand in his squeezed it. He was trembling a little. Jon looked at him, lips parted like he wanted to prompt him to continue, but he kept himself quiet. "I love you," Lovett said. "You're it for me, okay? So no matter what - if you're pregnant or if you're not or whatever happens, I'm in this for the long haul." He paused, the corner of his mouth upticking into almost a smile. "If you want me, I mean."

There was no way for Jon to hold back the huge grin that he felt pulling at his cheeks, and soon he was smiling so hard he could barely see Lovett. "Yes, I want you," he said, almost laughing. "God yes, I can't - why would I want anyone else if I can have you?" He bent down, got right up into Lovett's space, and kissed him, hard and wet and wonderful. "I love you, too, Lo, so fucking much."

When he went in for another kiss, Lovett stopped him, the roundness in his cheeks red and warm. "Wait, wait - we should see if we're gonna be dads," he said, stepping back from Jon and pulling his hand holding the pregnancy test up. "And, you know, if I'm going to have to spend the next nine months rubbing your feet."

Jon laughed and, after a moment to steel himself, opened his palm and the pregnancy test flipped over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate you reading this!
> 
> Do me a favor - if you've already left me kudos on this but would do so for this addition, I'd love a comment letting me know that! Honestly, just a +1 or a ✓ or something like that would be great. Doesn't have to be anything more substantial (though that would make my day, too).


	5. tommyjon | you only have to manage for 48 more minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, friends! 
> 
> This wasn't a request, but it fits one of the prompts, and this is my thing, so I'm fudging it a little. I wrote this short chatfic on new years' eve and I wanted to share it with all of you. This seemed like a good place to post it. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> This fits prompt #29: "Kiss me."

It's almost midnight and Tommy and Lovett are at Jon and Emily's for new year's. 

What was supposed to be a low-key evening among a small group of friends turned into something a little more lively, because they all have large groups of friends and once one person asked, oh, can I bring so and so, the guest list multiplied. And kept on multiplying. 

Tommy stands in the kitchen refilling his glass of whiskey when he feels a hand on his back, warm right between the shoulder blades. He smiles and turns. "I thought you were busy regaling the crowd with the story of what happened at the McDonald's drive-through last week," he says. 

Lovett smirks and shrugs. "You'd wandered off so I came to find you." 

"I've heard the story a dozen times already," Tommy points out. 

Lovett leans up on his toes, expectantly. "It gets better every time I tell it." He purses his lips. 

Tommy laughs and sips his whiskey instead of kissing his boyfriend. "Mmm, don't think you can catch me off guard. You lost a bet, remember?"

Lovett rolls his eyes and takes the glass of whiskey out of Tommy's hand. "It was a stupid bet. Why the fuck would you decide that we shouldn't kiss until the new year. Honestly, I don't know why I put up with you."

Tommy leans his side against the countertop. "Hey, you agreed to the bet fair and square. Just because you're sore about losing doesn't mean I won't hold to my end of it." 

It isn't a shot of whiskey that Tommy poured into his glass, but Lovett treats it as one and throws half of it back, getting tripped up on the ice. "You're going to be the death of me, Thomas Vietor the fourth." 

He slides his arms around Lovett and hitches him close. "You need to learn to be patient, Jon," he murmurs.

Lovett shakes his head. "I haven't been patient a day in my entire life," he scoffs.

"Well," Tommy says, taking the glass back and tipping it toward Lovett before finishing it off. He squeezes Lovetts hip with his free hand. "You only have to manage for forty-eight more minutes, not 37 years."

Lovett scowls and opens his mouth to say something but Tommy presses the glass to it. "Forty-seven minutes, Jon. I promise it'll be worth the wait." Then he slides away from his boyfriend, smiling to himself. 

"You're not that great of a kisser, you know," Lovett calls out after him, but they both know it's a great big lie.

Tommy loses track of Lovett for a while. Only visually. He hears him occasionally. He knows he's around. He can feel it in that way that usually happens when they're in the same place but not together. It's like they're circling each other, never quite touching.

But with five minutes until midnight and the new year, Tommy finds Lovett outside by the pool. He steps up beside him. "You got any plans for the new year?" he asks casually. 

Lovett smiles. "Oh I don't know. That depends, I guess." 

"Oh? On what?"

"You know," Lovett says, leans into Tommy. "What my boyfriend's plans are." 

Tommy moves a little, reaches for Lovett's hand. "I have a few ideas."

Most of the party has migrated inside, leaving Tommy and Lovett alone for the last few minutes of the year. Lovett slides an arm around Tommy's back and leans his cheek against Tommy's bicep. "Care to share with the rest of the class?" 

Tommy turns his head and kisses Lovett's curls. "In a few minutes," he says quietly. 

Lovett squeezes his hand. "I love you, you know," he says. He doesn't say it much. Neither of them do, really. They show their love for each other in other ways, but in moments like this? It's really, really good. 

"I love you too," Tommy says it back.

The countdown starts, all the way from sixty seconds. Lovett shakes his head. "Loses something when you start that far back." 

Tommy smiles. "Providing commentary about everything," he teases. 

"Hey you knew what you were getting into." 

"Yeah," Tommy says fondly. "I did. I do."

The countdown gets down to 20, to 10. Lovett squeezes Tommy's hand again until he turns so they can face each other. "Hey," he says. Tommy smiles. "Five seconds, Jon," he says. "Four, three, two, one -" they echo the party inside, trailing off by the time the cheers and shouts and laughter filter out to them at the side of the pool. Tommy lifts his hand, palm large and warm, against Lovett's jaw. "Happy New Year," he says, and he kisses him slowly, savoring their moment together. Lovett grips his wrist, reels him in, kissing him well and good.

Tommy steps in closer. He crowds into Lovett's space just the way Lovett likes it when it's just the two of them. He kisses him as everything around them fades away. 

Lovett doesn't want to, but he pulls back first. "Do you think they'll notice if we get out of here now?" he asks. Tommy doesn't answer, but he does kiss him again. "Tommy," Lovett murmurs, the words muffled against Tommy's lists. "Tommy, Tommy. Stop, Tommy." 

He pulls back. "You were so impatient about the kissing and now you want me to stop?" He lets his mouth move over Lovett's cheek. 

"No, but I want to do more than kissing, and I dont think Favs and Em would appreciate us fucking on the pool deck." 

Tommy steps back, blinks, then throws his head back and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always appreciate a note letting me know you read and enjoyed this. <3


	6. danlo | everything that happens next happens as if in slow motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous prompter requested #14 - "You can't die. Please don't die" with Dan & Lovett.
> 
> (Someone else also requested it, with any pairing, but I'm leaving it on my list for future writing.)
> 
> Content warning for this short piece: This is end of the world / apocalypse centric, which discussion of sickness, death, and dying. It's not a long piece, but those topics are very prevalent.

The end of the world, Dan has learned, doesn't arrive with a nuclear war or jets raining bombs over cities. It doesn't arrive by natural disaster, no earthquake or fire, no hurricane or drought. It comes by way of contaminated food, then famine, then by a plague.

It isn't like the stories in the history books, of the middle ages, with rats and boils and sores. It isn't like any drawn-out illness. It isn't the flu or norovirus or the common cold. It doesn't have any outward symptoms to warn of its arrival.

It's just - one day you're fine, the next day you're dying, the third day you're dead. Or not. 

Not everyone dies. 

Dan didn't die. Dan came out of it with nary a physical trace. Like every survivor, the scars are in his mind. His head is foggy. He forgets things more easily. He sometimes doesn't know exactly what day it is or why he's holding a book or a spatula or an empty roll of toilet paper. 

This is common, he learned. But he's, at least, alive. No one who's survived has been sick again, and that gives Dan a small amount of hope. Less hopeful, however is he about those around him who haven't been sick yet. Worse, he sometimes can't remember who has, who hasn't, or who's already gone.

He keeps a detailed journal, lists of lists, scraps of paper he can refer to. He, like other survivors, relies on the healthy to exist.

"What I wouldn't give for a burrito, with fresh pico and queso dripping out of the tortilla," Lovett says from the kitchen of his house, the one Dan moved into - the one they all moved into together - after.

"What do we have today instead?" Dan asks, leaning against the counter to watch Lovett fix their meal.

"Tomato soup," he says, holding up a dented can. "And the last of the saltines. The stale ones, sadly. I'll make a food run tomorrow. I think the lines will be open then."

Dan smiles. "It's a good thing I don't remember if I like tomato soup or not, then," he says, even though he's pretty sure he ate some the day before. Or maybe it was the day before that.

Lovett's face falls. "You don't," he says, sighing. "But you'll eat it anyway."

Dan knows that's true because they both have to eat whatever's available if they want to eat at all, and Dan's gurgling stomach reminds him how hungry he is.

He watches Lovett move around the kitchen. He heats up the soup, arranges the crackers on a plate, pours them each half a glass of bottled water. Dan likes watching Lovett, like this. He thinks that if this was 'before' instead of 'after,' maybe it might even feel domestic.

Lovett's humming to himself as the soup heats up. He thinks about the way their lives have become entwined together over the last year, how Lovett has become such an important part of Dan's life, how he needs to say that to him before he forgets that he wants to.

"Jon," Dan says, and Lovett turns to look at him, the corner of his mouth quirking up halfway to a smile. Dan smiles back.

Everything that happens next happens as if in slow motion.

Lovett opens his mouth to respond but before he can, his eyes roll back and he sinks to the floor, not gracefully at all but more like an accordian, collapsing all at once. His elbow hits the side of the plate of crackers on the way down, sending Saltines up in the air and back down again. Dan isn't quick enough to get to his side and keep his head from hitting the ground, so it does with a stomach-rolling crack.

It's just the start, Dan thinks as he gathers Lovett into his arms and carries him into the bedroom, bundles him up in blankets in an effort to keep his temperature from plummeting. The shakes come first, Lovett barely conscious throughout. Then the sweats and the fever. Dan stays at Lovett's bedside. 

When he's half awake, sometime in the middle of the night, Dan spoon-feeds him lukewarm tomato soup, forces him to drink water through a straw. He wishes he had tea or honey or ginger or anything that might help. 

Even though as he thinks about it, he knows nothing at all will help. Either Lovett will die, or he will live.

Dan spends the next thirty-six hours in and out of Lovett's bed. Sometimes he just holds a full glass of water up to Lovett's lips and hopes for the best. Sometimes he presses a wet washcloth to his forehead, down the side of his neck, over his chest. Sometimes he lies there beside him, staring, willing Lovett to survive this.

"You can't die," he whispers, fingers tangled in the curls at the side of Lovett's head. Dan rubs Lovett's back. "Please don't die." He can't tell what Lovett hears and what he doesn't. He has no memories of his own sick days, only the moments before and after. Lovett will likely be the same way if he wakes up.

_When_ he wakes up. Because he's going to, Dan tells himself. He has to. Dan doesn't want to be left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the others, if you've already left kudos but you enjoyed this, I'd love a +1 or thumbs up or whatever in a comment. <3


	7. tommyjon | the events of the night before flooded immediately in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **Imnotinclinedtomaturity**, who prompted #58: "Those things you said yesterday ... did you mean them?" I went with tommyjon, and I hope you enjoy.

When Jon woke up with a headache, he didn't try to sit up in bed, just burrowed his cheek in the warm and fluffy hotel pillow. 

But as he did this, starting to relax again and ignore the way his stomach (entire body, really) felt like rebelling against him, he realized he wasn't alone in this bed. At first, he didn't remember going to bed with anyone the night before.

Then, a groan, followed by: "Why did you let me drink that much last night?" 

And before Jon could answer, before he could even react to the voice, there was Tommy Vietor, rolling onto his back, face red and hair mussed from sleeping. He pressed the heels of his hands against his cheekbones, over his eyes. He still had on his dress shirt from the day before, thank God, but it was rumpled and buttoned wrong. 

Jon stared at his exposed collarbone.

The events of the night before flooded immediately in. The onslaught of memory flashes only made the headache worse. Jon's stomach rolled over. He'd had a lot to drink but not enough to make this hangover unbearable. What was more unbearable, he thought, was the sudden, teeth-grinding knowledge of what happened the night before.

"Shit," Jon breathed out. "Shit shit - " He scrambled out of bed, surprised to find that while he still wore his dress shirt, he definitely did not still have his slacks on. Boxer-briefs, check. He pushed his hand through his hair and tried to look anywhere but at the bed, where Tommy was currently sitting up and stretching. He wasn't wearing any pants either. "Tommy - "

"Stop screaming, Lovett, I'm right here."

He hadn't been, but - Jon backed up until he hit the wall. "Sorry," he stage-whispered. "I'm going to - go now."

"Isn't this your room?" Tommy asked. He hunched forward toward his bent knees, rubbing his eyes. 

Jon looked around. It was his hotel room. There was his suitcase, and the garment bag for his suit. Which was strewn in pieces across the floor along with - oh god - along with what looked like pieces of Tommy's suit too. "What -?"

It wouldn't get out of his mind now. What happened the night before. Dancing with Tommy at Jon and Emily's wedding, tie loose, Tommy's neck on view for everyone. Flushed and laughing. Tommy pulling him close and sliding his hands over his back. The moment when Tommy knocked him against the elevator wall and kissed him. Kissed him like he'd never been kissed before. Hands and mouths and skin and clothes and - they were drunk, and it was sloppy, and it was over before it could really get anywhere at all.

But he also remembered the words Tommy couldn't stop whispering. Words that settled into Jon's stomach and made goosebumps tickle his arms, that he only ever imagined, privately, he might hear Tommy say to him. He recalled the feeling of Tommy's mouth, the way the words formed, wet and hot, against his skin, as he he told him, "I love you, I always have, I want you, please" over and over again.

He looked at Tommy, eyes wide and mouth open. He hesitated. "Those things you said last night," he said quickly, the words blurring together. "Did you mean them?"

Tommy's expression softened, even with the sharpness of his cheekbones. He nodded. "Every word."

Jon swallowed. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He didn't know what to say.

"Jon," Tommy continued, gently. "Come back to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A +1 comment will make my day! <3


	8. tommyjon | even if it is basic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one asked for this but I wrote it anyway.
> 
> For prompt #2: _I ordered a pumpkin spice latte at starbucks and you made a heart with the foam and I decided to drink it here so I can smile at you some more_
> 
> \--

The barista looked more like he belonged being served coffee at a WASP-filled country club on the cape instead of behind the counter serving others at a quirky main street coffee shop. Jon squinted a little as he moved forward in the surprisingly long line of weekend tourists out getting their morning caffeine fix. Put a dusted pink polo on the guy, fluff up his hair a little, put a crease in his Chinos - yes, Jon thought. One-hundred percent WASP country club material.

His phone buzzed when he was next in line, so he was responding to some kind of fake-urgent situation from Spencer when it was his turn to order. 

"What can I get for you?" The barista spoke in a smooth baritone that Jon felt on the soles of his feet. 

He looked up from his phone and couldn't help but smile. The barista was fresh-faced, with sharp cheekbones, a square jaw, and dirty blond hair that curled in a wave across his forehead. His nametag read TOMMY. "Extra large pumpkin spice latte," he said. "To go, please. 'Tis the season, y'know?"

TOMMY smiled back at him. "Well, it is our most popular drink." He looked down at the cash register for a moment then back up. "Even if it is basic." The way he was smiling at Jon made him think it was more flirting, less insulting, but he wasn't sure. "That'll be $3.95."

Jon fished a crumpled five dollar bill out of his pocket and held it out. In his other hand, his phone vibrated again, but he ignored it. "Thanks," he said, and when TOMMY handed him back his change, Jon dropped it into the tip jar. 

Part of him was a little disappointed that TOMMY had already turned away, to the espresso machine, but he reminded himself that he didn't need recognition for leaving a cute guy a tip. His phone vibrated again, then rang, and he thumbed the screen to answer it, lifted it to his ear. "Hey Spencer, yeah - sorry, I'm getting coffee," he said.

Spencer whistled between his teeth. "Seriously? You know you'd probably bleed coffee if we opened up your veins, Lovett. You've got to cut back." 

"I can't function without it," Jon argued.

"My point exactly," Spencer said. "You've got to cut back. Switch over to Diet Coke like I did."

"The bubbles tickle my nose," Jon said dryly. 

"Pumpkin spice latte to go," came that goosebump-inducing baritone again, and Jon looked over in time to watch TOMMY put the drink on the counter and turn away. 

He signed. "Spencer, I'll call you back. I don't want to drop my phone into my PSL." Then he hung up right after his friend started laughing. Jon reached for a lid before he picked up the drink, calling out a casual "thanks" to TOMMY the barista. 

Before he clamped the lid down, he noticed the latte art. His cheeks warmed immediately. TOMMY had created a heart in the milk foam. Subtly, he glanced at the other latte waiting for its pick-up, and it had no decoration, no latte art. Jon's face grew even hotter.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, hey - thanks," he said, more purposefully this time, and louder too, drawing the attention of not only TOMMY the barista but also a few others around him. "This is pretty cool." It came out kind of breathy, quick, but it was worth it when TOMMY looked over at him, even as he steamed milk, and smiled widely. 

"Glad you like it," he said, his eyes bright.

Jon flushed even more. He felt it spread to the tips of his ears. He smiled right back. He smiled right back even as TOMMY the barista went back to work and Jon got jostled by an "excuse me" impatient coffee drinker who reached around him for the other waiting coffee.

He was always going to take the coffee to go. He really was. He wasn't late for anything, he didn't have anywhere he needed to be. He just didn't like sticking around quirky main street coffee shops for any longer than necessary. 

Which didn't explain at all why he found an empty seat with a direct view of TOMMY the barista and sat there. He set his phone on silent, tucked it into his pocket, and drank through the heart-shaped foam on top of his pumpkin spice latte. If he sometimes glanced up and caught TOMMY's eye, the two of them smiling at each other, that was okay too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments will make these very crazy last few weeks of my life better.


	9. tommyjon | I think you'll really like him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **anonymous**, who prompted #111: My friend is so determined to fix me up with somebody better than my string of casual coffee date/hookup partners that I didn’t have the heart to tell her, after she set us up for a blind date, that I actually met you six months ago.
> 
> ... so I guess this at least brushes platonically against this prompt. Anon, I hope that if you're reading, you enjoy this!

"Please," Emily said, and while she wasn't pleading, per se, her tone still leaned that way. "Just meet him. Have a drink. I think you'll really like him." 

"You said that about Pamela," Tommy pointed out, looking at her over the top of his pint of beer before taking a sip. Before that, she'd said it about Tammy and Rachel and Wendy. And Brad and Evan once she uncovered that he was open to that. He hadn't come out to her, per se, but apparently a friend of hers saw his Tinder and told her it was set to women _and_ men. Emily said that meant she had even more options for him.

When Tommy moved to LA from San Francisco six months ago, he had hoped for a break from being in a relationship, seeing as how the move was a result of his last one ending. It had been years since Tommy was single, and he liked it. He wanted to just have fun, and Emily didn't get it.

"Well, yes, and you liked her, right?"

Tommy blinked. "She was nice. Em, look, I told you, I'm not into meeting people to date them, not right now. I really am okay with - how did you say it? - casual coffee dates and hookups. I like having no strings attached."

"I just want you to be _happy_, Tommy," she said. Emily reached out and touched the back of his hand. Her fingernails were clipped short and painted a blush pink.

He set his beer down and covered her hand with his. "I am," he told her. "Really."

She pursed her lips, looking like she wasn't sure if she wanted to say anything else or not. "Just -" she started, then stopped, shoulders slumping.

Tommy tried not to sigh loudly. "You know what, it's fine. Let's do it. Who's this guy and why do you think I'll really like him?"

The delight that passed across her face as she sat up and clapped before launching into her, well, "sales pitch" was almost enough to convince Tommy that it wasn't the worst idea in the world to actually go out on a date with this guy. 

Eventually, he told Emily fine, he would, and Friday night was fine, yes, and he didn't care where. The other guy could choose, or Emily could, or whatever. Yes, Tommy will be there, and he'll even wear a clean shirt. He promised. 

\--

"So she describes him to me," Tommy said as he picked up a different size of hand weights and got into position for another rep of squats. "She tells me his name is Jon and he's a writer and he's really funny and charming and that he's from the East coast too and worked in politics for a while, and I finally cut her off and ask, 'are you sure you aren't just trying to set me up with your husband?'"

Lovett, who was fully invested in listening to Tommy's story despite matching him squat for squat, laughed. "Oh god, what did she say to that?"

Tommy grimaced. Lovett had heard enough stories like this in the six or so months that he's known Tommy to suspect that the grimace was more because of the exercising and less from any kind of negative reaction from his friend. "She asked me if I'd go for that."

"She did not," Lovett burst out. His cheeks, flushed from the squats, were shiny. He stood up and swiped his towel from where he draped it over a chair. He wiped his face. "What did you say?"

Tommy straightened, much more gracefully than Lovett had, but he was the same amount of sweaty and a darker shade of red. "I told her that ship sailed years ago without any passengers on it."

Lovett rolled his eyes and tipped his head back to drink enough water that he felt better but not enough that it sloshed around in his stomach and made him sick. "That's a horrible metaphor, Thomas," he teased. 

He tried to swat at him with his towel but Tommy caught it in his fist and tugged him off balance. Lovett's heart leapt to his throat. When he and Tommy realized they were both going to keep coming to work out at the same time every day, for the same length of time, they gravitated toward working out together. Lovett had really, _really_ enjoyed working out since. He played it off by coughing into the towel and offering Tommy a shrug. "But you're going out with him, aren't you? You always give in."

Tommy rubbed the back of his head and Lovett watched the play of muscles under his damp t-shirt and along the side of his neck. "Yeah, I'm going out with him. It's just drinks. Friday night. Maybe I'll see if he's up for dollar tacos."

"No one in his right mind would turn down dollar tacos," Lovett pointed out. 

"If he did, he wouldn't be someone I'd want to hang out with."

He watched Tommy drink from his own water bottle then turned his attention to his gym bag. He needed to wash the damn thing but that was a problem for at-home-Lovett, not gym-Lovett. He turned Tommy's words over in his mind for a moment. Something scratched at the back of his mind and he mentally went through his calendar. "Wait. This Friday?" 

"Yeah, why?"

Lovett glanced at him, trying to stay casual. "Just go with me here," he continued, "any chance your date is at The Surly Goat?" 

Tommy looked at him. "It is, in fact, at The Surly Goat. How did you guess?"

Well, now wasn't that something. 

_The thing was_, Lovett had been low-key crushing on Tommy since the moment he laid eyes on his big hands and sweaty brow on Tommy's first day at Barry's Boot Camp. He kept that crush in check, even after (_especially after_) he learned that Tommy was bi. Keep it cool, Lovett reminded himself constantly, don't let yourself get tripped up by hot gym bros who maybe date guys but wouldn't date you because if he wanted to, he would have asked.

"Your friend is Emily Favreau. You - are the Tommy who worked in the White House with her husband Jon." Lovett hoped he wouldn't have to find another gym. He liked this one.

Tommy's eyes widened, his barely-visible eyebrows disappearing altogether. "You're Jon, the funny writer." Maybe he didn't mean for it to sound like an accusation, but Lovett's hackles went up anyway.

In defense, he held up his hands, one still holding the towel, the other with his water bottle. "Hey, don't worry. We can cancel. I know you're not really into dating right now anyway, so no big deal."

Tommy looked at him with an expression that Lovett couldn't figure out.

_Well._ He focused on his gym bag. Shoved his towel in, checked for his phone, his keys. He capped his water bottle and dropped it in, too, all the while talking at Tommy. "Look, I'll tell Emily that something came up or I have a boyfriend now or my dog can't be left alone for more than an hour. No, that last one won't work. We're neighbors, you know. Me and the Favreaus. I guess you didn't know that because if you did you wouldn't be standing there looking at me like I was a three-headed alien. Seriously, don't worry about it. I'll text Emily after I shower." 

Tommy's hand slid over his forearm. He turned to find Tommy _right there_. "No," he said. "Don't cancel. But let's get tacos instead of whatever passes for alcohol at The Surly Goat."

Lovett looked at his hand and then back up at Tommy. "Really?"

He smiled. He looked like he'd just been working out, yet it also made him look younger, fresher, a little bit delicious. "Yeah, really."

Though he usually didn't have any trouble finding any words to say, he stumbled for a moment. "Cool," he said. "Cool cool cool. So are we going to tell Em that we already know each other?"

Tommy dropped his hand from Lovett's arm and picked up his duffel bag. "Nah," he said. "I don't want to ruin her excitement over finally being successful at finding someone for me who I'll want to see again."

The implications behind that statement made Lovett feel like his knees would buckle. Or else, that was just leg day catching up to him early. "You don't know that," Lovett said. "Maybe our date will be a disaster and we'll never want to see each other again and I'll have to look for a new gym but, let's be real, I won't find one and then I'll grow old and fat and lazy and it'll all be your fault."

Tommy shook his head. "Oh no, you're not blaming me for this. If anyone's to blame, it'll be Emily." He stopped walking, nearly at the doorway showers. He smiled, brushed Lovett's elbow with his knuckles. "But I don't think the date will be a disaster, Lovett."

"Well, we'll just see about that," Lovett muttered, drawing another laugh from Tommy as they bumped shoulders on the way into the changing room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a +1 in the comments below. Or reply with the exercise you'd most like to see Tommy or Lovett do. Whichever tickles your fancy.


	10. tommyjon | are you better at that after drinking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **anonymous**, who prompted tommyjon with #105: _we drunk-kissed but you forgot about it and I don’t know how to act around you anymore wtf_
> 
> \--

The party was over, most of their friends on their way home now that it was after two in the morning. Tommy saw Favs safely into a cab after losing an argument where he offered him the couch. The place was a mess but Tommy didn't want to bother with it now. He was still mostly drunk, though it was fading. He needed to either go to sleep or have another beer. 

He shuffled back into the kitchen, swiped a new bottle from the fridge, and joined Lovett, who was sprawled on the couch playing some kind of video game that looked like it had demons in it. "Scoot," he said, poking at Lovett's legs until he bent them to give Tommy room to sit. As soon as he did, Lovett stretched his legs over Tommy's lap. 

Tommy drank slowly, letting the beer fog his mind again. It was the weekend. He didn't want to think about the situation in Southeast Asia or the Middle East or whatever until he was back at the White House on Monday. If he was lucky, it might even work out that way. He stared at the TV screen without really seeing it, rested a hand on Lovett's calf since it was across his own lap. "Are you better at that after drinking?" he heard himself ask. 

It took a moment for Lovett to respond. "Huh?" 

"The game," Tommy said, vaguely away that his words came out low and slow. "Do you do better when you're drunk?" 

"'m not drunk," Lovett said, but Tommy knew better. He knew that when the apples of Lovett's cheeks turned red and he sagged into the couch cushions and didn't care as much about personal space, then he was drunk. 

"Okay," Tommy said. He tilted his head against the back of the couch and took a long swallow of his beer, which tasted awful but he didn't care. It took him a moment to notice that Lovett had paused his video game. He turned, just his head, his cheek squished against the back of the couch, to look at him. 

Lovett's eyes widened. "What?" He set his game controller down and leaned forward, like he might move closer to Tommy, but instead he just shook his head. "My skill level with video games is unchanged no matter what amount of alcohol is in my system," he said, slowly, each word enunciated. 

Tommy set his beer down. "Okay," he said again. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" 

Tommy blinked. "How am I looking at you?" he asked. He let his fingers slip under the bottom of Lovett's pants, his thumb pressing into the warm skin around his ankle bone. 

Lovett kicked at him, and he let his hand fall to his side. "Like you - " But he didn't finish the thought. Instead, he scooted toward Tommy, keeping himself up right until he got up on his knees and, without warning, straddled Tommy.

Tommy straightened immediately, his hands going to Lovett's waist. He tried to parse out the look on Lovett's face, the one that was a little confused yet determined, that looked like he wanted to say something but also wanted to huff and roll his eyes. "Well, hello there, Lovett," he murmured, feeling the effects of the beer, its warm looseness spreading throughout his body.

"Hi Tommy," he replied, the words tumbling out of Lovett's mouth as he pressed his lips against Tommy's.

Tommy's reaction time was slow only because he was drunk-ish. But drunk-ish kissing was one of his favorite kinds of kissing. The headiness he felt, the way every place they were touching was amplified, the taste of Lovett's lips on his own - essense of beer and salt and salsa. He opened his mouth to draw Lovett in, tasted him, shifted so he was sitting better, bringing Lovett more comfortably against him. He felt like they could kiss for hours. For _days_. And he would be content to do so.

Lovett pulled back first, surprise bright across his face. Tommy smiled at him, lips parted. He wanted to reach out and touch the curls at the side of Lovett's head, but he didn't get a chance to. Lovett tipped himself off of Tommy, off of the couch. He didn't look at Tommy as he said good night and then he disappeared up the stairs before Tommy could even lift his hand up to his mouth and rub away the feel of Lovett's lips against his.

\--

Starting the next morning, Tommy had no fucking idea how to act around Lovett.

**Example Number One:** When Lovett appeared, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, at the bathroom door when Tommy was brushing his teeth on Monday morning, Tommy rushed out with his toothbrush still in his mouth. He had to gargle and spit in the kitchen sink.

**Example Number Two:** At work, when Lovett burst into Tommy's cubicle to ask for confirmation about one of the dates in an upcoming speech that the President was going to give, Tommy couldn't stop staring at his mouth. (Lovett's mouth, not the President's.) He missed half of what was asked and it took Lovett three times saying his name before he looked back up at his face and answered the question.

**Example Number Three:** They went out for drinks, as they tended to do more often than not, and Tommy _paid for Lovett's vodka soda_ without even asking. The look he received from Lovett was an odd mix of confusion and attraction. Tommy told himself it was nothing to think about.

**Example Number Four:** Tommy sat on the couch in the exact same place as the night of the party, with a beer in his hand once again, with Lovett playing a video game beside him. But instead of flinging his legs across Tommy's lap, he stayed scrunched up on his end of the couch. Tommy, being the weirdo that he was, actually tugged on Lovett's leg, trying to pull him over. Lovett looked at him but didn't move. Tommy got up and left to drink alone in his bedroom.

Of course, Lovett pretended like nothing happened, even with Tommy's weird antics because of it. It shouldn't have surprised Tommy, but it did. It even annoyed him a little bit. Okay, more than a little bit because it was also possible that, despite Lovett insisting otherwise, he might have been pretty drunk and didn't even remember kissing Tommy. 

He didn't know which was worse: Lovett not remembering or Lovett acting like it didn't happen. 

Either way, Tommy couldn't stop thinking about it and, he eventually admitted to himself, he wanted it to happen again. Really, _that_ was the worst part of it.


	11. danlo | you might want to get out of the splash zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **anonymous**, who requested #11: "We can't keep doing this."
> 
> So here is a little AU kidfic for you all to enjoy.

Dan was running late, and he hated when that happened. He couldn't blame the traffic, even though it was objectively bad all the time. He couldn't even blame someone else, because his last meeting ended an hour before and his phone hadn't rung in that same amount of time. 

No, he had simply fallen into a groove and been so consumed with writing that he lost track of time. The last thing he ever wanted to do as a single father was to lose track of time and forget to pick up his kid, but thankfully it didn't happen much. Or, really, at all. 

Also, it wasn't like he left his kid home alone or anything. 

He was already in his car before he scrambled for his phone to call the school. Of course, Lovett answered on the first ring. "Where are you?" He didn't sound demanding, though Dan wouldn't begrudge him if he had.

"Just leaving the office now. I'm so sorry. I was caught up with my book." 

"Did you finish the chapter?" he asked instead of arguing the excuse. 

Dan's stomach tightened at the knowledge that Lovett remembered how much he was struggling with the draft of his book lately. "Uh, yeah, actually. And then some." 

"Good. Cool. Hey, don't worry about it. Chase and me, we're golden. We're building a tower. Hey, Chase, do you think we can make it as tall as your dad?" In the background, Dan heard Chase laugh and cheer. "Take your time," Lovett said. "Don't speed. We'll be here." 

"Thanks, Jon," Dan said in a quick breath as he merged onto the freeway, thinking that avoiding the surface streets might get him there faster. "I won't be long." 

"Yeah, okay. See you soon." The call ended. 

It wasn't long before Dan realized that the traffic on the freeway was worse than waiting through the congestion and stop lights on the surface streets. As he sat in traffic, he stared at the blank screen of his phone as though expecting Lovett to call again, actually sounding demanding this time. But, to Dan's surprise, he didn't.

And when Dan got to the school half an hour later (it should have taken him just fourteen minutes on the freeway), the only other car in the lot was Lovett's dusty Jeep. 

He found them both - Jon and Dan's son Chase - in the classroom beside a tower of blocks _almost_ as tall as Dan. 

"Hey little man," Dan said, but Chase shot him a sour look and shushed him very loudly. Dan paused in the doorway and watched as Lovett hefted Chase up and helped him put another block on the very top. It wobbled but didn't collapse.

Once he was back on solid ground and had his footing a safe distance away, he jerked an arm out and pointed at the tower. "Stand next to it," he said loudly. "Is it really taller than you for real?"

Lovett grinned, and he gestured in a way that maybe was a little bit mocking at Dan, rolling his hand to tell him to go try out it. "Go on then," he said. "I had to go with my memory of how much taller than me I thought you are." 

"Daddy, come on," Chase yelled.

"Inside voice, buddy," Dan said on impulse, but he walked over to the tower, careful not to touch it or even breathe on it. He stood beside it. "Well?"

Chase tugged on Lovett's arm until he was back up in his arms, his face more near eye-level to Dan's. "I think it's taller than you are! I think it is. What do you think, Mr. Jon?"

"I think you did it, Chase. That looks like it's taller than your dad, for sure." 

Chase cheered. "Can I knock it over now? Please?" He squirmed and kicked in Lovett's arms.

"Are you going to clean up all the blocks and put them away before you go home with your dad?" Chase, eyes wide, nodded at Lovett in agreement. "All right, then go ahead." He set the kid down and stepped further back. He leaned sideways toward Dan. "You might want to get out of the splash zone yourself."

Dan didn't immediately make the connection so his movement was a fraction of a second too slow. The moment Chase went for the tower, arms flung wide, it came tumbling down, some blocks hitting Dan even as he tried to side-step them.

Dan, face hot, shook his head but smiled. "Now don't forget you just promised Mr. Jon that you'll clean them all up. If you do it in record time, we'll stop for chicken nuggets on the way home."

Chase burst out with a high-pitched _YAY!_ then started dropping blocks into their buckets. Dan watched him for a moment before turning to look at Lovett who he found watching him. 

"We can't keep doing this," Lovett said in a resigned tone.

Dan's face burned even more. "You're right. I'm sorry. I won't be late again." But it occurred to him that this wasn't a habit. He had been late one other time, due to traffic, that caused Lovett to stay late with Chase. Dan had apologized profusely. He frowned. 

Lovett tilted his head to the side, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I don't mean you being late," he said casually. He paused before continuing. Lovett looked - almost - _coy_. "I mean, when are you going to ask me out?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment or a +1 would be great after this long, long week.


	12. vietreau | you can come back with me now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for **catherine** who requested, with any pairing, #14: "You can't die. Please don't die." 
> 
> It's a little sad and angsty but there isn't any character death. Just want to say that up-front.

Jon got the call while he sat in the drive-through waiting for his Dunkin coffee. He got the call because he was listed as his emergency contact. He should have, he realized, stuck around for his coffee instead of jerking his car out of line, because all he could do at the hospital was pace on the squeaky tile in the waiting room. He was tired; he needed that coffee, and the hospital coffee was lukewarm and left a bitter taste at the back of his mouth. 

Despite being the emergency contact, no one had any information to give him. He hated not knowing. He hated asking a dozen questions and getting no answers. He made himself dizzy with the pacing, so he sat, perched on the edge of a stiff chair. He'd barely been sitting for a minute when a nurse came out and looked at him. 

"Jon? You can come back with me now." 

"Is he okay?" 

The nurse scanned them through the doors into a too-brightly-lit hallway lined with carts and equipment. "He's alive," she said. 

Death hadn't even occurred to Jon, and he stumbled over nothing, a stride behind her. "Oh," he said, his tongue thick.

She stopped outside of a closed door and turned to face him. "He's not awake yet. The doctor will be in shortly to talk about how the surgery went and the next steps." The nurse opened the door and gestured for Jon to go in. 

For a moment, he couldn't move, like he was stuck up to his knees on the floor. Then, he dragged one foot in front of the other until he could see inside of the room. His breath choked him when he saw Tommy lying there, looking unusually small and young against the white sheets. 

"Thank you," he remembered to say, but the nurse was already walking away, leaving Jon alone with Tommy. He stood in the doorway, fists tight as he gripped the sides of his jeans. The machines hooked up to Tommy beeped in what Jon hoped was a normal rhythm. He didn't know what all those numbers meant.

Movement down the hall prompted him to lurch forward, drag a chair up beside the bed. "Hey, Tom," he said. "You look like shit. Sorry, sorry. I, uh - I have no idea what happened, honestly. I just came when they called. I didn't - " He rubbed his hands together and sat forward. He stared at the pillow beside Tommy's head so he didn't look at the purple and gray bruise blossoming along Tommy's cheek. "I didn't know I was still your emergency contact," he said quietly.

The last time he saw Tommy, he was getting into his car and didn't look back. It was six months ago. It was - the Tommy-shaped hole in Jon's life hadn't shrunk in all that time - one of the worst days in Jon's life. Until, maybe, this one. 

"They haven't told me much. I guess you had some kind of surgery. There was a car accident? Fuck, I don't - " Jon pressed his fingers into his closed eyes, hunched over. He shook his head. "I don't think you're going to die. I don't think it's all that bad. But - you can't, okay? You can't die. Please don't -" He clamped his jaw shut and sat back, feeling ridiculous.

The room was quiet, save for the buzz of the lights and the steady beeping of the machine Tommy was hooked up to. "I'm sorry," Jon whispered into the air around them both. "I am so sorry. I shouldn't have - I didn't mean - I wish I could go back and do it all over again." He shook his head. 

Jon knew that people said talking to people in comas was good, but Tommy wasn't in a coma. He was just asleep. And Jon wasn't so sure he would want Jon to be here when he woke up. 

He pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped through until he found the number for Tommy's mom. He called, waited through the rings until her voicemail picked up, and then left a message. Of course, Jon didn't want to alarm her but she needed to know. She needed to be here. Tommy would probably prefer to see her instead of seeing Jon.

Leaning forward, Jon pushed his phone back into his pocket. On impulse, he reached out and pressed his hand against Tommy's wrist, where it peaked out from a sling, cradled against his side. "I love you, Tom," he said, barely audible, almost as though he was just mouthing the words. 

He watched Tommy's face, but he didn't wake up.

Jon pulled his hand back and settled back into his chair to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do me a solid and leave me a +1 in the comments. <3


	13. jonjon | no, what? wait - what did you say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is filling #8: What did you say?
> 
> No one requested it, and it started out as something else that someone did request and then didn't work but ended up fitting this prompt so here you go.

Jon stared at the message Lovett just sent to him. The one with a photo attached. 

He swiped the message away and looked up from his phone. After a moment of hesitation, he looked back down and opened up the text again. He should just delete it. _Of course_ he should just delete it. The text was not meant for him. Clearly. 

His thumb hovered over the reply space but before he could decide what to do, his phone rang and Lovett's face popped up onto the screen. Jon grimaced, took a deep breath, and answered. "Hey."

"So I'm thinking about tacos," Lovett said, without preamble. "In fact, I can't _stop_ thinking about tacos. Do you want tacos? Should we go out?"

"Go out?" Jon echoed.

"Yeah," Lovett said. "You know. Out. Away from your house. To get tacos. Maybe bring our dogs. Get a beer. What do you think?"

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Jon blurted out before he could think better of it.

"What?" Lovett sputtered. "No, what? Wait - what did you say? Why would I - of course not." Jon could picture him, flushed, eyes darting around. "Jon, don't be ridiculous."

"Why is that ridiculous?"

Lovett made a weird sound then went quiet for a moment. "Jon, be serious for a moment. What's this about?"

Jon's focus softened, and he stared at the edge of his dark TV. "You texted me," he said quickly before he could change his mind. "I don't think you meant to. I think you probably meant to send it to someone else. But it's got me thinking -"

"Whoa whoa whoa, wait a minute, back up. What text are you talking about?" His voice grew quieter. 

Jon, who couldn't get Lovett out of his head, could again picture him, this time pulling the phone away from his ear to swipe through to their messaging thread. Jon rubbed his collarbone and breathed out once, twice. 

"Oh," he heard Lovett say, the laugh. "You mean I don't always send you poorly lit selfies of me in too-tight shirts and ask you to imagine taking it off of me?"

Jon almost choked. "Uh -"

"Right, well, yes. You're right. I clearly didn't mean to send it to you. Sorry to offend your delicate heterosexual nature. Now, are we getting tacos or am I spending another Saturday night swiping through Grindr for a hook-up?"

"No," Jon said, sounding like something was stuck in his throat. "I mean, no, you're not going on Grindr. We're getting tacos. All you can eat. Oh, and Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"Wear that shirt," Jon said all in one breath. "It looked - you look really good in it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't leave kudos? Leave a comment.


	14. tommyjon | we're doing shots! shots for lovett, too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **anonymous**, who asked for tommyjon #21: "I might have had a few shots."
> 
> Yesterday, we had the glorious news that Lovett made his IG public and then I went through all the photos on his feed. This prompt fill in particular is inspired by [Tommy's comment on this photo](https://www.instagram.com/p/grxAP/) after it was pointed out in chat that Nellie's is a very well-known DC gay bar. 
> 
> So, this happened this afternoon.
> 
> -

It was 2 a.m. and Lovett had lost track of Tommy over an hour before through no fault of his own. One minute, they were pushing their way through a crowd to get to the bar and the next Tommy was telling him he needed to take a piss and off he went. 

An hour later, Lovett realized Tommy hadn't come back yet, and he tried not to get too concerned. Tommy was, after all, a grown man who was perfectly capable of navigating a crowded sports bar on his own. Of course, the last sports game on the TVs in the dining room ended an hour ago and the DJ had been spinning some really, really tragic '70s dance music since then, but, again, Tommy was a grown adult man and could take care of himself.

Lovett thought about that for a moment, though, and decided that while it might be true in any number of other sports bars in DC, it might not be entirely true at Nellie's. "Fuck," Lovett said, out loud but to himself.

Now he had to go find Tommy. Lovett started with the bathrooms, which were crowded but Tommy-less. Then he tried the bar in the back, where a lot of the straight guys who came here to watch sports hung out, but of course since no sports were being played, that area had emptied out and was, also, Tommy-less. 

When he found Tommy, it was among a group of guys who Lovett could only describe as _femme fatales_, not for their murderous ways (the only thing that they could kill with would be their makeup game, which was on point) but more for the way they surrounded Tommy like they wanted to eat him alive. (Lovett didn't blame them, not really.) Maybe a better description would be that whole huddle thing during football when all the players got into a circle around the one guy who threw the ball and then they all slapped each others' butts. 

There was no butt-slapping happening. Yet. But Lovett wasn't sure it was far off, and he pushed through to get to Tommy. "Hey," he said to get Tommy's attention.

Then his attention was got and Tommy, arms wide open, launched himself at Lovett. "Lovett!" He sounded happy and fond and quite a lot drunk. He pressed his nose into Lovett's hair and held on tight. "We're doing shots. Shots for Lovett, too!"

"I thought you said you didn't have a boyfriend," one of the guys said, one who was definitely _not_ Tommy's type at all. (According to Lovett, who decided that once Tommy came out to him, he knew immediately what Tommy's type was.)

"I don't," Tommy said a little, his arm still slung across Lovett's shoulders even as he leaned in toward the interloper, who was looking at Lovett like he wanted to pull his hair or shove him into a locker. Given that the guy was as thin as a toothpick and wearing eyeliner, Lovett was impressed. "This is my - Lovett." Tommy looked at him with a strange expression, eye bright and tongue between his lips. He shook his head and twisted to gesture to the other guys. He tried again. "This is _Lovett_. We live together."

Lovett rolled his eyes. "We're _roommates_," he said, before the guy could act on any kind of possessive impulse he had. Looking at Tommy, who's hair was mussed, curling down across his forehead, and pink-faced in a cheery, drunken way, it was Lovett who felt, suddenly and intensely, possessive. 

"I might have had a few shots," Tommy stage-whispered right into Lovett's ear. He leaned more heavily against Lovett, his hand somehow, inexplicably, at the back of Lovett's neck. 

Lovett chose not to think about it. "It's time to go home," he said. "Let's go, Tommy."

"I can make sure he gets home," the guy with the eyeliner, who was also wearing cut offs that Lovett didn't think anyone should stuff themselves into, said loudly. He batted his eyelashes at Tommy, who batted his right back, even as he seemed to be trying to wrap his whole body around Lovett's while they were both standing up.

There was no way Lovett was letting this guy take Tommy home. Not a chance in hell.

"Sorry, boys," Lovett said, trying to hold Tommy steady while also keeping his own balance. He tried to decide what the best way to get them out of this situation was, while still keeping both of their integrity intact. Well, Tommy's, at least. Lovett didn't care about his own. "We have a pact that the only way one of us scores is if both of us do and I - what do you call it? We're in a sports bar - right, I struck out. A lot. So, Tommy's got to go home with me." No, that wasn't entirely right. "I mean, we both go home alone. Together. Since we're roommates." All right, he hadn't had that much to drink. Maybe Tommy's alcohol intake was getting into Lovett through osmosis?

Tommy didn't object. The guys around him did. Lovett didn't care. All he cared about was getting Tommy home without either him knocking Lovett over because he was leaning so much on him or him throwing up on Lovett's new sneakers. If neither of those happened, Lovett would call it a win.

(Thankfully, Tommy waited until they were back at 1309 before he was sick, in the bushes beside the front stairs. Lovett managed to get him into bed with a water bottle after that. So what if he was still fully clothed. That was for Tommy to deal with in the morning.)

If Lovett stopped in the doorway and looked back at Tommy, sprawled out and passed out on his bed, his face turned into the pillow and his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones, for a long moment before heading off to bed himself, no one had to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, I would appreciate a brief comment, especially if you have already left me kudos on this work! 
> 
> Hope you are staying at home and healthy and keeping yourself well <3


	15. tommyjon | hey, I've got you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm deep in tommyjon feels at the moment. This fills prompt #12: "I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

When Jon went to bed, Tommy hadn't come home yet. Later, when he woke up and stumbled blearily into the bathroom, Tommy's bedroom door was still open, and Jon knew he always slept with it closed. From where he stood in the bathroom after doing his business, Jon frowned. When he turned off the bathroom light, he noticed blue light from downstairs. 

Instead of going back to bed, he went downstairs and found Tommy sitting, zombie-like but awake, on the couch. His tie was loose, the top buttons on his dress shirt undone, exposing the pale sharpness of his collarbone in the flicker of the TV. "Hey," Jon said quietly, hoping not to startle him. "Tommy, what are you doing up?" He had no idea what time it was, and he didn't want to know. What he did know was that Tommy spent most of the day in the Sit Room, and the whispered conversations Jon heard around the West Wing weren't great. 

Tommy's shoulders jerked but he didn't look back at him, just kept his eyes trained on the TV, on what looked to be an infomercial for closet cubes. "Long day," he said, his voice stale. "Can't sleep." 

Jon rubbed his chin and considered his options before skirting around the couch and sitting beside Tommy. He inched close enough so their legs touched, thigh to thigh, Jon in pajama pants and Tommy's dress pants slightly wrinkled. He hesitated only a moment before setting his palm over Tommy's thigh. "How can I help?" 

The muscles in Tommy's thigh tensed for a moment, then he relaxed. "I'm fine," he said, the usual way this conversation went between the two of them. 

Jon let his fingertips move up to Tommy's belt. "Tommy," he said. "I'm going to take care of you, okay?" He got hold of the belt buckle and worked it open. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tommy swallow, Adam's apple bobbing, and him breathe out. Before Jon was finished with the belt, Tommy was turning and sinking into his arms. Jon made a noise, a good one, and leaned his head back as Tommy tucked his face and opened his mouth right there at the hinge of his jaw. Jon's free hand wound around his neck, his fingers going into the damp, soft hair at the back of Tommy's neck. 

"Hey," he whispered. "Hey, I've got you." Jon knew whatever it was that kept Tommy up at night, even something as non-Top-Secret as how many hours he insisted on putting in at his stressful job, they didn't need to talk about it. 

Sometimes, Jon needed this comfort as much as Tommy did. The nights they spent together but didn't really ever talk about later were growing more and more frequent, and Jon knew that pretty soon he was going to have to stop them. 

But not tonight. 

Tommy nodded, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin at Jon's throat. Jon tugged at his hair until he lifted his head and their eyes met. "Hey," Tommy said. His gaze dropped to Jon's mouth and then they were kissing. Open-mouthed and warm but not frantic. Jon loved how Tommy kissed him, a mix of tender and tired, but with an underlying tension of urgency. 

Jon kissed him back just as well, tasting him, memorizing every millimeter over every second. His hand was trapped between them, fingers grappling at the button on Tommy's pants, but Tommy gripped his wrist. 

"Lovett -" he gasped out. "Not - I just wanna kiss you," he said. "Like this tonight. Please." 

When Jon pulled his hand out, he slid it along Tommy's cheek and, nodding, kissed him again. He felt Tommy rock against his hip bone, hardening. They were both turned on, but Jon understood what Tommy meant, even if he didn't say it out loud. If Jon got a hand on him, or a mouth, it would be over quick and Tommy would fall asleep. It wasn't often that all they did was make out, rubbing off against each other like teenagers on a basement couch. 

But Jon could do this forever, he thought, which was a bigger problem than he wanted to deal with right then. Instead, he kissed Tommy, fingers tangled in his hair, enjoying the weight of him pressing them into the couch cushions. He kissed him slowly, like they had all the time in the world. And Tommy kissed him back, so well that Jon forgot to think, forgot to breathe, forgot that he was the one who was supposed to be taking care of Tommy, and especially forgot that, eventually, night would turn to morning, and Tommy's hands and mouth wouldn't be on him anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything you'd like to leave me, I would appreciate. Even if it's just a comment to re-up your kudos.


	16. tommyjon | yeah it's perfect, and it's mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **kat**, who prompted #1 and tommyjon ages ago and despite having a hundred ideas for it, I waited until pumpkin picking time to actually get it done. I'm sure there is so much more to this story than the short bit I've written here, but for now, please enjoy this.
> 
> _#1: met at a pumpkin patch fighting over the same perfectly round and picturesque pumpkin _

Jon Lovett had the best pumpkin picker at his side. His pup, Pundit, had the best sniffer for finding the perfect pumpkin. As it was now - finally - fall, Lovett wanted to locate said perfect pumpkin and display it in a place of honor on his front porch. He'd be the envy of his neighborhood, if he had the best pumpkin, and he was counting on his dog to sniff it out from the already picked-over pumpkin patch.

With Pundit tugging the lead, Lovett followed along, stepping over some misshapen pumpkins, some rotting ones, some that were too small, some that were too big, and some that weren't the right shade of orange.

Suddenly, Pundit barked and lurched forward, causing Lovett to stumble as he was jerked forward. But he went willingly, eagerly even, ready to lavish Pundit with affection and praise when she surely found him the perfect pumpkin. 

The problem was, another pup scrambled to a stop at the same time at the same pumpkin as Pundit did. This one was a mocha-colored muppet, nearly twice Pundit's size. At the other end of her lead, however, was a tall glass of something that almost tripped Lovett up again.

He did the only thing he knew he could do best - argue. "My pumpkin," he blurted out. "This is my pumpkin," he continued, ignoring the fact that he hadn't even had a chance to examine the pumpkin Pundit was sitting proudly beside. Of course he trusted her implicitly and believed firmly that she would never let him down.

He ignored the other dog, who sat just as proudly on the other side of said pumpkin. 

"We got here first," Lovett continued without leaving room for the other guy (whose sharp cheekbones reflected the low autumn sunlight in a very blinding way). "First come, first served and all that, you know the deal." 

He finally looked at the other guy, gave him a full head to toe once over. Tall, windswept blond hair, eyebrows too lightly-colored to count, tight t-shirt, baby blue shorts at a length where Lovett couldn't accurately decide if he was gay or not, and boatshoes. Actual, honest-to-goodness boatshoes. He stook, arms crossed, biceps bulging, and looked at Lovett with an amused expression.

"Why do I get the feeling that even if I argue that Lucca got here before your pup did - and we did, by the way - I won't win?"

Lovett puffed up a little with pride. At least he was giving off the right sort of first impressions vibes. "Ah, well, there's your answer. You're smart," he said. "No sense fighting a losing battle." 

With that, he bent down and put a hand on the pumpkin, feeling it out. It was warm and round, a good shape, too, and there didn't seem to be any rot or anything. Honestly, he was surprised it was still available. 

Pundit got bored waiting for this to wrap up and bounced off with a bark. The other dog - had the other guy called her Lucca? - yipped and pranced after her. Lovett checked the grip he had on the lead.

A long shadow passed over him, and he craned his neck to look up, up, up. "What?"

"Is it still in good shape?"

Lovett shielded his eyes from the haloed sun shining around the guy's frame. "Yeah, it's perfect. And it's mine." 

"So you've said."

Lovett didn't like the tone of this guy's voice. He stood up, keeping his ankle and calf pressed firmly against the side of his pumpkin. "So I have."

The human boatshoe held out his hand. "I'm Tommy."

Lovett eyed it warily before extending his and shaking it. "Jon."

Tommy smiled. "Nice to meet you, Jon." He glanced off at the dogs, who were wrestling playfully among the other pumpkins. "Hey, our dogs are getting along."

Lovett looked over at Pundit and Lucca too, shrugged. He didn't trust this, not for one second. "Looks like it," he said. Part of him didn't want to look directly at Tommy, but a larger part of him really liked looking directly at Tommy. He ventured a small smile.

"Tell you what," Tommy started, and Lovett squared his shoulders defensively. "Let's go with shared custody."

Lovett blinked. "What?"

"Of the pumpkin," Tommy said. He squatted down and put both of his large hands on the pumpkin, his knuckles brushing the side of Lovett's calf. He stepped away. "We can share it. Half the time you can have it and the other half I will. Of course, you'll have it on Halloween, but I need it on the thirtieth for a party. You should come."

Lovett stared down at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"We can share the pumpkin. And I also invited you to a party. What do you think?"

"I think you're crazy."

"I think you're cute."

All of the words disappeared from Lovett's brain at once. "Yeah, okay," he said with half a laugh.

Tommy just shrugged.

"Is your thing, like, picking up at the pumpkin patch? Do you get off on pumpkin spice lattes and leaf-peeping? I mean, if that's your thing, cool, everyone's got a kink -"

"So is that a no?" He had the audacity to look dejected.

Lovett shook his head. "If I wanted to say no, I'd have said _no_," he said. "We can go halvsies, but you're carrying it to the check out." He tapped on his thigh. "Come on, Pundit, time to go." She bounded over to him and, honestly, he swore she actually smiled. "Yeah, all right. Good girl."

Tommy handed the end of his lead to Lovett and came up with the pumpkin in his arms. He was grinning. "I had a feeling today was a good day to go pumpkin picking."

Lovett tried to roll his eyes, but his cheeks, which were also smiling, wouldn't let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick comment would make these next few weeks until Nov. 3, 2020 more bearable <3

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a podsa tumblr but if you'd like to prompt me for anything, you can [go here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vRLGDsRuzHtsQVH2kKssTWyn-n8goN7th7LJooyWGaAh5dFrY2RD8YzA6Nxwct9jBHiwyUH_OirqWvQ/pub).


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